


Poodles, Pirozhki, and Parabolic Trust Falls

by fluffy_fluff_scarf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Found Family, M/M, Underage Drinking, good thing his dads i mean coaches are here to help, let yuri say fuck 2kforever, like a lot of it, lots of fucking swearing, yuri has a lot of teen angst to work through
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_fluff_scarf/pseuds/fluffy_fluff_scarf
Summary: After Yuri’s grandfather dies, he begins to act out. A lot. Yakov, unable to deal with his increasingly bad behavior, enlists Victor to help whip the young skater back into shape. Having retired from their professional skating careers, Victor and Yuuri live in St. Petersburg, coaching the next generation and planning for their upcoming wedding.When Yuri is unwillingly thrown into the mix, the three of them have to adjust to clashing personalities and difficult compromises as their once separate lives suddenly converge. However, with time, patience, and a little give-and-take, they soon find mutual understanding, trust, and – possibly – something a bit like family.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue: A Quiet Evening at Home

**Author's Note:**

> I know Yuri living with Yuuri and Victor has probably been done to death already, but please I love them and wanted to try my hand at it okay

“Yurochka!” Nikolai Plisetsky yelled from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready!”

Up in his room, Yuri flipped onto his back as he scrolled through Instagram. “Coming,” he called distractedly, grinning at a post from one of the hundreds of cat accounts he followed.

Potya purred by his ear as they both laid sprawled at the end of his bed.

Yuri didn’t get to stay with his grandfather very often, so he loved the calm and comfort that surrounded him when he did.

“Don’t worry,” he told Potya as he liked the photo of the tabby on screen. “She’s not as cute as you.”

As if she understood, Potya stretched her paw out to brush his cheek.

Like most sixteen-year-olds, Yuri was maybe – possibly – a bit too attached to his phone. But _unlike_ most sixteen-year-olds, he was a record-breaking professional figure skater with multiple gold metals, so he figured he more than deserved some time to fuck around on social media.

Gently nuzzling against his cat’s paw, Yuri continued to scroll through his phone.

His nose wrinkled in disgust as he came upon Victor’s newest post. Of course, it was _another_ stupid selfie of him and the pig. Victor was kissing Katsudon on the cheek, while the pig smiled like an idiot.

God, they were so gross and sappy and touchy-feely and all that shit.

Rolling his eyes, Yuri scrolled past the post and liked the cat picture that came after it.

He paused, then scrolled back up. Why did he even follow Victor? He followed the other Yuuri too, for some godforsaken reason. Then again, he never _un_ followed them either.

He stared at the picture again, much longer than he meant too.

They looked happy. Really happy.

Ah, fine. Fuck it.

Yuri liked the picture and kept scrolling. He’d humor them.

“Come eat!” his grandfather yelled up. “It will get cold!”

“Da,” Yuri called back. Their house was small, so they didn’t need to raise their voices too much in order to hear each other. “I’m coming, grandpa!”

The smell of his grandfather’s pirozhki drifted up from the kitchen and his stomach grumbled.

Deciding he’d go down in a minute, Yuri refreshed the page out of habit. His heartrate suddenly spiked at the new post that showed up on his home feed.

It was Otabek.

It was a photo of him DJing in a club; his intense gaze focused down at the disks by his hands, body slightly shadowed in the blue and green lights. The caption simply read: _We belong to the deadbeat club._

Yuri sat up, crossing his legs as he smiled uncharacteristically at his phone. Otabek didn’t post on Instagram much, so Yuri got unreasonably excited when he did.

Otabek typically used song lyrics for his captions – some obscure, others more popular. Yuri had no idea what song that caption was from, but he loved it, especially since Beka was one of the most dedicated and hard-working people he’d ever met. Well, besides himself.

Yuri went to comment on it, then froze.

There were already a ton of likes and comments on the post, so it’s not like Yuri’s contributions would have been especially noticeable.

But still. Why was he so nervous? It was just Instagram. He _dominated_ Instagram. His tens of thousands of followers loved _whatever_ he did. Same with twitter, although he didn’t use it quite as much.

Commenting under the post of another skater was nothing special. At least, it wouldn’t be it was literally anyone else. But this was _Otabek._

Beka – his friend. His best friend. And he was so _cool._ Yuri didn’t want to say anything that would make himself sound stupid.

Plus, the Angels would be all over anything he said and make it out like there was something weird between them when there wasn’t _anything_ between them because they were just friends and –

Yuri quickly liked the post before sliding into his direct messages with Otabek.

He stared at the keypad for a literal minute before he settled on _Give them a show, Altin_ with a few enthusiastic-but-not-too-enthusiastic-he-swears emojis following.

Yuri flopped back down and blew a few strands of hair from his face. Looking at Potya, he furrowed his brows in thought before showing her his screen. “What do you think? Good?”

The cat seemed to meow in approval, so Yuri brought his phone back to his face, his stomach flipping with he saw a response from Otabek.

It was a single, tan thumbs-up emoji.

Yuri really didn’t understand how one fucking emoji could make him grin like that.

Weird.

He clicked on the home tab and tried to keep scrolling, but he instantly went back to his messages instead and wondered if he should say anything else.

He hadn’t seen Otabek in a while. They didn’t get to see each other in person much, but they hadn’t even facetimed recently. Yuri knew they were both extremely busy, but he still wanted to see him.

He nearly typed out _It’s been a while, how are you?_ or even _I miss you_ but ew, no. That would be – weird.

Potya stretched out once more before licking her paw. Yuri stroked her ears. Cats really were the fucking best.

“Yuroch–” The voice that carried up the stairs suddenly cut off. It was followed by the sound of a pan crashing to the floor.

Alarmed, Yuri jumped up, his feet hitting the carpet. “Grandpa?” he yelled, causing Potya to startle as well. Did his grandfather burn himself?

He heard a slight moan before a much louder thud. The thud of a body falling to the ground.

“Grandpa!” Yuri screamed as he ran out of his room, heart sinking into his stomach.

Potya sat up and watched him go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri dunked a bowl into the soapy water of the sink before scrubbing and drying it off.

The TV played softly in the background of the apartment as he gently placed the bowl in the drying rack before reaching for one of the dinner plates.

They had a dishwasher of course, but Yuuri enjoyed the therapeutic aspect of repetition while washing dishes.

He heard the clacking of Makkachin’s claws as he trotted off somewhere behind him before two strong, warm arms wrapped themselves around his waist. Yuuri smiled as Victor pressed a light kiss to his temple.

“Do you need any help?” Victor asked, his Russian accent low in Yuuri’s ear.

With a pleasing shiver, Yuuri turned his head to grin at his fiancé. “No – you cooked tonight, so it’s my turn to do the dishes.”

“I know.” With a grin matching his, Victor ducked his head to bury his nose in Yuuri’s neck. “I just wanted an excuse to come over here.”

Yuuri’s laugh turned breathy as Victor placed his lips against his pulse. “You nev–” He cleared his throat. “You never need an excuse.”

Victor simply hummed in response before kissing up Yuuri’s neck.

Nearly dropping the soapy plate into the sink, Yuuri almost gave into Victor’s advances, but he was _not_ one to let chores go undone. “Victor,” he laughed again, pulling away just enough so he could give him a quick peck on the lips. “Dishes first.”

Giving him an adorable pout, Victor tipped his head to the side. “Okay.” Then he placed his chin on Yuuri’s head as he kept his arms staunchly around him. “I’ll just watch, then.”

Yuuri could hear the smile in Victor’s voice and couldn’t help but smile in return. “You’re impossible.”

Victor just kissed the top of his head.

On ice, Victor was untouchable. Although his professional career was over, his coaching allowed him to continue to showcase his ethereal, almost godlike movements on the ice.

But as much as Yuuri never tired of that side of Victor, he _adored_ his softer, gentler, more domestic side. The side that no one else got to experience; the Victor no one else got to see.

Yuuri didn’t like to consider himself as selfish, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t when it came to Victor. It made him unspeakably happy and ridiculously proud that Victor chose _him_ of all people.

Their gold rings sparkled in the light from above the sink.

“Victor,” he began softly. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?” Victor spoke into Yuuri’s hair.

“For our wedding…can we do our vows in Russian?”

Victor dipped his head back down so Yuuri could turn to look him in the eyes. “I thought we agreed on English; more people will be able to understand that way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Yuuri shrugged. Their families were from Japan and Russia, and they had a large number of international friends, so English made the most sense. “But it’s your language. And I’m doing pretty well with it. And I…I like hearing you speak it.” He flushed at his confession.

“Oh?” Smile curving into a smug grin, Victor kissed him softly. “Then I should speak it to you more often. But…” He slipped into Russian as whispered a phrase in Yuuri’s ear; one saved specifically for the bedroom. “Я хочу, чтобы ты умолял об этом,” he told him.

“Vitya!” Yuuri fake chastised, laughing as his fiancé chuckled in his ear. It was impossible to ignore the goosebumps that spread over his arms, though.

“Well, I like it when you speak Japanese,” Victor told him honestly when they’d calmed down.

Yuuri had to resist the urge to kiss him again. “We could do it in all three?” he suggested.

Victor looked up in thought for a moment before his cool, icy eyes met Yuuri’s earthy ones. “How about we do our vows in English for the ceremony,” he said. Then, he kissed right above Yuuri’s ear. “But that night,” he began in Russian, “we can repeat them. For just the two of us,” he finished in broken Japanese.

It wasn’t grammatically correct, but Yuuri _completely_ understood what he meant and smiled, leaning into him. “That sounds perfect.”

With the way Victor was looking at him, Yuuri couldn’t hold back anymore and kissed him. His fiancé responded immediately, slowly turning him around so he could kiss him properly.

“My – my hands are wet,” Yuuri mumbled before giving back into the kiss and draping his arms around Victor’s neck.

Pulling Yuuri closer, Victor gently nipped at his bottom lip, grinning when his partner gave a small sound of surprise.

As the kiss grew deeper and Victor gently brought is tongue into it, Yuuri decided that – just this once – the dishes could wait.

Or, that was until Victor’s phone began to ring loudly in his pocket.

With an annoyed groan, Victor pulled away. “Sorry,” he said, expression dark as if he’d just broken off their engagement, could never skate again, or something else equally as devastating.

Yuuri just waved him off with a grin and turned back to the dishes. His fiancé could be a _bit_ dramatic.

“Oh, it’s Yakov,” Victor said as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “It’s late,” he mumbled answering it. “Yakov!” he said brightly as he made his way over to the living area.

Yuuri focused back on the dishes until he heard Victor’s usually light voice drop.

“What?”

Curious, Yuuri dried his hands and went over to the couch where Victor slowly sat down.

“When?” he asked, leaning forward, one hand on his knee.

Yuuri picked up the remote and turned off the TV so he could try to understand what Victor was saying as he was speaking quick and low in Russian. He was clearly worried.

Deciding to give him space, Yuuri sat in the armchair diagonal to him, but the call didn’t last long.

“Alright.” Victor sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. “Thank you for calling me.”

Makkachin hopped up on the couch and laid his head over Victor’s lap.

“Tell Yurio I – well. I don’t really know what to say.” Victor paused as he listened to the other line. “Yes. Thank you, Yakov.”

When he hung up, Yuuri couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay. “Yurio?” he asked. “Did something happen? Is he okay?”

Victor mindlessly rubbed between Makkachin’s ears as he looked over at Yuuri. “Yurio’s grandfather died. A few hours ago.”

“Oh my God,” Yuuri breathed out. He stood up to join Victor on the couch, their dog sniffing at his sweatpants as he sat down. “What…what happened?” he asked softly, knowing it wasn’t really his business, but Victor was definitely uneasy.

“It was a heart attack.” He paused for a second. “I’ve only met Nikolai a few times, but he was a good man.”

“Oh, Victor, I’m so sorry.”

Pushing air out of his nose, Victor stroked Makkachin’s fur for a moment before speaking again. “Yurio was there.”

Yuuri knew from Victor’s tone exactly what that meant. “Poor Yurio.” He glanced down at his hands before looking back to Victor, the situation dawning on him. “What – what’s going to happen? I mean –” There wasn’t a tactful way to ask what he wanted to know. But he was immediately concerned for the teenager.

“I don’t know,” Victor said, fully understanding Yuuri’s anxieties. “Well, he’ll be staying with Yakov and Lilia for the most part, but…” His brows furrowed as he thought. “Nikolai was his only family.”

“What about –” Yuuri shut his mouth before he could finish the question that was _absolutely_ none of his business. Sure, he was curious about Yuri’s parents (or lack thereof), but it wasn’t something he had the right to ask about.

But Victor naturally picked up on his thought. “His parents aren’t in the picture. They never really have been.”

He could be extremely oblivious sometimes, but he could also be incredibly observant when it mattered.

Quiet except for the sound of their poodle’s panting, Victor’s hand found Yuuri’s.

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand in his. “But…he’ll be okay, right?” Even if Yuri wasn’t exactly Yuuri’s biggest fan by any stretch of the imagination, Yuuri cared about the younger skater. He felt they’d grown somewhat closer in the past year. Well, he could hope at least. But he’d seen him a lot more after moving to St. Petersburg with Victor since they shared the same rink, and there was even one time that Yuri had told him he ‘possibly tolerated’ him, so that was nice.

And Yuuri was worried about him.

Victor just bobbed his head. “I hope so.”

Yuuri could tell that there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t push the issue. He laid his head on Victor’s shoulder and gently stroked over his partner’s hand with his thumb. “When’s the funeral?”

“Next week.”

Yuuri turned his head slightly to look up at Victor. “Should – I mean, do you think we should go?”

Victor glanced down, his face hard to read. “Do you want to?”

“I do,” Yuuri said without hesitation. “But only if Yurio wants us there.”

Victor smiled softly. “I’m glad. I would like to go, too. I’d like to pay my respects to Nikolai.” He rested his head on Yuuri’s. “And to check on Yurio. Although you can’t tell him that, or else he definitely won’t let us come.”

Yuuri nodded against Victor’s shoulder. “Then let’s go. And maybe we can find a more… _subtle_ way to let Yurio know we’re here for him.”

Victor agreed, but Yuuri knew that out of all the wonderful things his fiancé was, subtle was _not_ one of them.

Still, if there was any way to help Yuri, they would do it.

But Yuuri didn’t quite know just how far that sentiment would go.


	2. Two Months and a Series of Questionable Insta Posts Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long - I've been playing around with what I want to do with this and changed some things, hence the change in rating. I figured I'd make this story *bit* more appropriate lmao
> 
> Also I got a new job so I'm busy oop
> 
> I want to give a content warning in this chapter for sexual harassment and a minor in a rather unsafe situation, but it ends up okay I promise

Yuuri smiled as he leaned against the rink boards, watching Victor.

Victor was working with one of his best skaters, Alexei Kuznetsov, and the two of them glided across the ice.

“Good,” Victor said as Alexei ran through a difficult step sequence of his routine. “But not great. Let’s run through it again. The Rostelecom cup is in two weeks; ‘good’ will not do.”

Never one to be deterred, Alexei nodded as he got back in formation. “Right!”

Yuuri grinned down at his feet, his red skate guards clashing against the pure white of his skates.

He remembered from his own experience how strict Victor could be as a coach, but he always yielded the best results by doing so. Victor saw greatness in people and he knew exactly how to draw it out.

Watching Alexei’s talent and skill grow over the past six months proved that.

Yuuri liked him. Out of all the skaters training under Victor, Alexei was the one who had the same kind of drive that Yuuri saw in himself.

Although he was only seventeen, it was clear that he had a very long and successful career ahead of him.

He must have known that too, since he left his old coach as soon as it was announced that Victor would be coaching full-time.

He was the kind of skater Yuuri would have been incredibly intimidated by if he was still competing.

“Yes!” Victor praised as Alexei ran through the section of his routine flawlessly. “That was gold-winning.”

“Really?” Alexei asked, sweaty and beaming.

“Well,” Victor shrugged with a slight smile, “it would be if I did it. You need a bit more work, but we’ll get there. Now, go take a break.”

Alexei grinned with another nod before skating over to the boards, passing Yuuri as he stepped off. “Hey, Yuuri,” he said kindly.

“Hi, Alexei.” Yuuri smiled back as the younger skater went over to one of the benches.

Turning his attention back to the ice, Yuuri’s smile grew as Victor glided over to him. “Hey, honey.”

Victor wasted no time leaning down to kiss him, gently gripping Yuuri’s arms to steady himself.

There were other skaters in the rink of course, but when Victor kissed him, Yuuri swore they were the only ones there; the only ones connected to the ice.

All too soon, Victor pulled away, a grin on his lips. His eyes shifted to over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Impressed?” he asked as he locked eyes with him again.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder to where Alexei was stretching, then looked back at his fiancé. “Very. But…honestly, I was mostly watching you.”

Victor had the gall to look smug as he leaned in closer. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re only here this early just to watch me.”

Yuuri stared down his partner with a matching grin. “I show up early to get practice in. Getting to see you skate is just a perk.”

“A big perk?”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Yuuri gently tugged on Victor’s sleeve. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”

Victor pouted dramatically as Yuuri gave his arm a slight squeeze.

“Go get some water,” Yuuri told him. “I expect an _equally_ attentive audience.”

Victor smiled and kissed Yuuri’s cheek before he stepped off the ice.

There was always this sense of freedom that came with skating. No matter how often Yuuri slid onto the ice, that feeling never failed to lift any weight off his shoulders.

He kept to his (or, Victor’s for the time being) section of the ice to avoid the few other skaters as he loosened himself up.

Yuuri coached much younger kids, so their practices didn’t start until the afternoon when schools were out, but he always joined Victor for his early morning practices anyway. He loved getting time on the ice just for himself.

As far as coaching went, Yuuri liked it a lot more than he originally thought he would. Well, it was more teaching than coaching since he worked with children who were just starting their skating journeys, but he enjoyed it.

He had the patience for working with kids and it helped that his students were on the same reading level as him (in Russian, of course. His Japanese and English were _obviously_ well above the first-grade average, thank you very much).

When Victor wasn’t busy with his own skaters, he would show off for the kids by performing jumps and spins, then promise them that they could get there someday as long as they “listened to coach Yuuri.”

Yuuri always appreciated it, even though his students would beg him for the rest of the lesson to teach them jumps they weren’t remotely capable of because they were _six_ and most of them had put on skates for the first time that year.

He would promise to, only if they could go the whole lesson without falling. None of them ever could, so he was off the hook.

Still warming up, Yuuri landed a simple, double toe loop. He laughed to himself when he heard Victor whistle at him.

Yuuri glanced over to Victor, who was standing by the boards, water bottle in his hands, giving Yuuri the undivided attention he’d all but promised him.

Although it was something he should’ve been used to, Yuuri could never stop the pride he felt and the slight flush on his cheeks whenever Victor looked at him like that. Like he was the only man on earth.

He usually used this time for himself – just to make sure he didn’t lose his edge. But maybe he’d put on a little show for his fiancé.

He knew how much Victor loved to watch him skate.

Running through a few moves in his head, Yuuri glided across the ice, making sure to look at Victor. Their silent eye contact was a message for Victor not to take his eyes off of him, although Yuuri knew he wouldn’t.

But before he could start his impromptu routine, everyone’s attention was seized by the sound of yelling from one side of the rink.

No, not yelling. _Screaming._

Coming to a stop, Yuuri’s gaze followed the charged shouts.

Across the rink, voice raising to seemingly impossible volumes compared to his small body, was Yuri.

Yuuri was honestly amazed, but not surprised, that Yuri could stay so physically composed and balanced on the ice as he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Not nearly as composed, standing at the boards and red in the face, was Yakov, yelling right back.

Yakov shouting at one of his skaters was nothing new – Victor told Yuuri that’s how he showed his love – and the said skater he argued with being Yuri also wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Yuuri had only been at the rink for less than a year, but he’d quickly learned to ignore the usual spats between the two of them whenever they inevitably happened.

However, their arguments had definitely increased in amount and volume in the past couple of months. These newer, more intense screaming matches were impossible to overlook.

That was proven by the fact that everyone currently in the rink had seemed to stop breathing, refusing to move in fear of further sparking the live wire that was Yuri Plisetsky.

Yakov kept his anger focused on the target it was meant for, but Yuri was a different story. When he got in one of his moods, whoever so much as looked at him was torn to shreds by his tongue.

Ever since Yuuri had met the other Yuri, he knew he was snippy. But it all honestly, it was kind of charming.

More recently though, there was _nothing_ charming about his behavior. At least, not from what Yuuri saw.

Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuuri wasn’t going to pretend that he knew him as well as Victor did, but he could tell that something had changed.

Yuri was a bit taller than when Yuuri had first met him and his blond hair was now down to his shoulders, but those physical changes weren’t anything noteworthy.

No, it was his temper. It had gotten exponentially worse.

When Yuuri had first begun sharing the same rink, any greetings to Yuri had been met with an eye roll or scoff, but soon changed to a clipped, “morning, pig” (which Victor, again, assured him was a nickname said out of love), before he seemed to settle on an indifferent, “hey, Katsudon.”

Yuuri liked that.

But beginning just a few months ago, any attempts to talk to the young skater were cut short with a biting, “ _fuck off._ ”

It wasn’t just his temper either. Yuri’s entire image had transformed.

Everyone in the skating world knew of Yuri Plisetsky.

Dubbed by many as the ‘Russian Fairy’ and the ‘Russian Punk’, and self-titled as ‘Ice Tiger of Russia,’ Yuri had a dominating presence both on and off the ice.

When preforming, he was graceful beyond human ability. Yuuri didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say he moved like an angel. (Hence, why his fans went with the term ‘Angels’ for themselves.)

But off the ice, sequins and feathers were swapped for tiger stripes and leopard spots; beauty and grace were replaced by a foul mouth and an even worse attitude.

That was the Yuri that Yuuri had known; the image he proudly displayed to the world.

But when that had begun to shift, he very quickly took on a new nickname: Yuri Plisetsky – Wild Child.

Instead of his usual animal print, sneakers, and slightly oversized sweatshirts, Yuri was now more often seen in cut up tops, heavy boots, and the kind of pants that Yuuri personally didn’t think were appropriate for someone his age.

But if he was going to call anything inappropriate, it would be Yuri’s social media accounts.

Not that Yuuri spent a ton of time on social media, but he enjoyed keeping up with all of his friends and fellow skaters, and it was the best way to communicate through their various countries and time zones.

In doing so, he’d noticed the stark difference between Yuri’s posts from before and what he was posting currently.

His Instagram feed used to be filled with shots of the places he’d been, selfies in his favorite tee-shirts, skating videos, and a _lot_ of pictures of his cat. Yuri’s original feed looked like what Yuuri imagined a typical teenager’s would look like. Well, besides the small gold-medalist-in-line-for-the-Olympics detail.

In any case, his page looked like those of all the other teen skaters Yuuri knew.

Yuuri was only twenty-four, but he knew he wasn’t remotely cool enough to have a large online presence. Still, he noticed everyone else’s.

So it was nearly jarring when Yuri’s posts began to contain nothing but pictures and videos of nightclubs. Short clips of him downing drinks that no one could prove were alcoholic sound tracked by heavy, pounding music quickly filled his feed.

He also began to post more, uh, slightly _provocative_ selfies. Pictures taken in questionable angles and poses had thousands of equally as questionable comments from teenage girls (understandable) and grown adults (not so understandable).

Sure, they weren’t Chris Giacometti level lewd – not by far – and they weren’t even as explicit as some of the things Victor had posted before, but Chris and Victor were in their late twenties.

Yuri was _sixteen._

Yuuri knew he had no right to say anything against it – who was he to tell Yuri what to do? – but it didn’t sit right with him. Not only because Yuri was so young, but also because something was clearly wrong.

He could practically pinpoint the exact day that Yuri seemed to flip.

After the funeral.

It felt gradual at first, then hit like a slap in the face.

The Yuri he saw sobbing in a suit that was suddenly too short for him seemed worlds away from the Yuri who was currently screaming his lungs out at Yakov.

He was obviously going through something, but Yuuri didn’t know if they were exactly close enough for him to say anything.

Maybe he should talk to Victor about it.

Then again, before Yuri’s Twitter was made up of him cursing out everyone and everything and a few pointed tweets detailing how hungover he was, it was typically covered in threads of Victor playfully provoking him until he got his desired aggravated reaction out of Yuri.

So, maybe not.

Well, whatever Yuri did wasn’t any of Yuuri’s business. But it was still concerning.

Maybe Yuri would just outgrow it on his own.

But should he have to?

“That’s it!” Yakov’s furious voice continued to carry across the rink. “Off the ice! You’re done until you can calm the hell down!”

“I wouldn’t have _gotten_ so angry if you weren’t so _fucking useless!_ ” Yuri shouted. Still, he somehow managed to _stomp_ off the ice per Yakov’s command. “Fucking old bastard!” he fumed past the benches and out the door. He would have slammed it if able.

Everyone in the rink released a collective breath and pretended they didn’t witness the screaming match that just occurred.

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri turned as Victor came back on the ice.

His expression was blank as he slid past Yuuri. “I’m just going to talk to Yakov,” he explained simply.

“Oh, okay. Yeah.” Yuuri watched as he skated over to the other coach, who’s face was still an impressive shade of red.

Standing still on the ice, Yuuri turned his head towards the door of the rink.

He at least knew Yuri well enough to know that he would want to be left alone, but something nagging in the back of Yuuri’s mind told him to go check on him anyway.

Against his better judgement, Yuuri skated to the edge of the ice, grabbing his skate guards and quickly put them on before heading to the locker room; he guessed Yuri would hole himself up in there.

He couldn’t help but think back to when he’d first met Yuri.

The then fourteen-year-old had kicked open the door to the stall where Yuuri was crying and got up in his face, incredibly intimidating for someone of his stature.

Yuuri had been unnerved by it at the time, but he looked back at it fondly, strange as that was.

He doubted Yuri would be crying, and Yuuri would obviously use a much gentler approach, but it almost felt like the positions were switched.

Just like he suspected, Yuri wasn’t crying when Yuuri found him in the locker room.

He was swearing to himself as he kicked at a locker, the hollow sound echoing through the empty room.

Yuuri was silent for a moment as he watched him, not sure what to say. It didn’t seem like Yuri noticed he’d come in.

Wanting him to stop, Yuuri finally said, “You’ll ruin your skates if you keep doing that.”

Surprised by the interruption, Yuri whirled around, still as graceful as ever. Realizing who it was, his face immediately morphed into one of utter annoyance. “Like I give a shit.”

Yuuri hesitated, not sure what to say next. “What is…” He trailed off. What did he even want to ask? “Are… Uh – what’s up?” he finished lamely.

Yuri only sneered as he stalked towards him. “Piss off, _piggy,_ ” he spat. As if he needed to get his point across more, he shoved Yuuri to the side as he passed him, even though there was plenty of room for the both of them.

Then he stormed out.

Yuuri stood alone in the locker room, eyeing the noticeable dent in the door of the locker Yuri had battered.

That went about as well as he expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Loud, pulsating music shook Yuri to his core as he danced in the nearly suffocating crowd.

It was after one in the morning and he had to be up early for practice, but Yuri was no longer a stranger to late nights and he _needed_ this.

He _hated_ the quiet.

Recently, the drone of nothingness in his ears was agonizingly grating and his body continuously hummed with energy when he wasn’t on the ice.

When he wasn’t skating, he needed something else to push his body to the limit – something to occupy his mind.

Clubbing was the only solution.

The beat dropped and Yuri’s body shook from the inside out with the power of the bass.

The volume in the club increased as everyone’s intoxicated state heightened with it.

The guy he was dancing with grabbed Yuri’s hips and pulled him closer.

Yuri continued to dance against him, their movements becoming less rhythmic until they were practically just rubbing each other to the beat.

When the man leaned down to kiss him, Yuri let him, getting wrapped up in the noise and heat and feeling of the wonderfully overwhelming environment.

He felt everything. He felt nothing.

The older man’s hands grabbed at his ass as he slipped his tongue into Yuri’s mouth. It was only a few moments before Yuri pulled back.

He was pleasantly buzzed, but not remotely drunk enough for _that_ yet.

“Buy me a drink,” Yuri told the man, who had probably told him his name at some point, but Yuri didn’t bother to pay attention. They had to yell to hear each other over the music anyway, and it wasn’t like either of them was actually interested in getting to know each other.

Giving him a smirk, the man tightened his grip on Yuri’s ass and brushed against him again. “What do I get in return?”

Yuri had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Fuck, it really sucked having to flirt with these douchebags in order to get them to buy him liquor; that guy was the third one that night. But he wanted to get plastered, so he forced a tight smile on his face and playfully tugged on the other man’s shirt. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Satisfied, the guy grinned again and looped his arm around Yuri to lead them off the dancefloor and towards the bar.

A pleased grin spread across Yuri’s lips. Dumbass. As if he was going to follow through on doing _anything._ But Mr. Douche didn’t need to know that.

At the equally crowded bar, the man kept his grip tight on Yuri’s hip as he got the attention of one of the bartenders.

A blonde woman who looked strangely familiar leaned across the bar with a smile. “What can I get you?” Then, almost instantly, her pleasant demeanor changed. She gestured to someone over by the wall before looking back at them.

Why did Yuri feel like he’d seen her before? And she looked _pissed._

“Yeah,” the man with the vice grip on Yuri said, not noticing her change in tone. “We’ll have two –”

“I’m not serving him,” the bartender said, looking pointedly at Yuri.

Yuri jerked back slightly in surprise before steeling himself again. “The fuck you’re not!”

“We got a problem here?” a deep voice asked from behind.

Turning, Yuri and the man at his side looked up to see a large man nearly towering over them.

“Yeah.” The bartender crossed her arms. “That’s the little punk who snuck in last month!” She glared at Yuri. “You’ve gotta be like fifteen, right?”

Oh, shit. _That’s_ where Yuri recognized her. She was the bitch who got him kicked out last time!

“Whoa!” The man released his hold on Yuri and threw his hands up. “You’re a minor? I swear I didn’t know!” he told the bouncer.

Yuri just scowled, thoroughly pissed. “I’m _sixteen,_ ” he corrected.

“How did you get in here?” Without letting him respond, the bouncer grabbed Yuri’s arm and yanked him away from the bar. “You’re out _now._ ”

“Hey!” Yuri struggled against the bigger man’s hold. “Let go of me, asshole! I said let me go!”

He could barely hear himself over the music as the bouncer pulled him through the sea of bodies.

Getting to a side door, the bouncer threw it open and tossed Yuri out into the night.

“Don’t let me catch you in here again,” he threated.

“Fuck you!” Yuri shot back.

Without responding, the bouncer just slammed the door in his face.

“Wait!” Yuri yelled as he pounded on the door. “My jacket is in there! Hey!” When he realized no one was coming back, he kicked the door angrily for good measure. “Son of a bitch!”

Great, another club he’d have to avoid.

Frustrated beyond belief, Yuri stalked out of the alley he was thrown into and back out to the street.

Shit.

His boots crunched against the thin layer of snow as he shivered in the October night. Of _course_ they had to get an early snowfall this year; why would he expect anything different?

And they literally didn’t even give him back his jacket, the bastards. They’re just lucky it wasn’t one of his favorites or heads would’ve rolled.

Yuri’s shirt was thin, sleeveless, and ripped. His pants were tight, but didn’t retain any heat. At least his boots kept his feet from freezing off. And he looked good, so whatever.

But he would have looked even better with his jacket for fucks sake.

He kept walking.

The street was quiet. And empty.

His ears still hummed from the deafening noise of the club and the icy air bit at his exposed skin.

Yuri quickly began to feel…that thing. That thing he felt when he was alone and it was quiet and his mind finally had the time to catch up with his body. Whatever that thing was, he hated it.

He hugged his arms around himself and rubbed from his shoulders to his forearms to warm himself up, but it didn’t work.

It was fucking freezing.

Huffing in exasperation, Yuri glared up at the dark, cloudy sky and watched his white puff of breath disappear.

Where should he go?

He needed to get out of the cold – look, he was Russian, not cold blooded – but he didn’t want to go back to Lilia’s yet.

It was well past the normal time her and Yakov went to bed (nine at night; why did old people go to sleep so _early_ ), so the mansion would be hauntingly silent.

Besides, the atmosphere there sucked anyway.

Yakov was still pissed from the argument earlier and Lilia seemed pissed on his behalf.

Yuri couldn’t even remember _what_ they fought about even though it had been less than twenty-four hours ago.

It had something to do with Yakov being a shitty coach, right? Or maybe it was about Yuri being an overall shitty person?

Whatever – it’s not like it mattered. They would fight about whatever it was again anyway.

Yakov had seemed really upset, though.

Yuri scoffed to himself and shook his head. As if he cared. Yakov wouldn’t care how upset _he_ was, right? So why should Yuri?

Dammit, he needed a drink.

_This_ was why Yuri was out; his mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up about things he didn’t need to think about.

All he needed to focus on was skating. Nothing – and no one – else mattered.

He wished the rink was open this late. The Rostelecom cup was in two weeks and he wanted to work on his free skate more.

He was confident he would get gold – of course he would – but it had to be better than perfect.

_He_ had to be better than perfect.

But the rink was closed and he was really fucking cold and just needed to _move._

He needed loud music, blinding lights, and a crowd of bodies to drown out whatever was currently buzzing in his head.

But more than anything, he needed alcohol.

He struggled to pull his phone out of the pocket of his pants that were practically glued to his skin.

After freeing the phone from its confinement, Yuri’s temper grew when he spied the red battery level in the upper right corner.

_Fuck._

He’d brought a portable charger _which was in his jacket pocket._

God _fucking_ dammit.

His options were to either find another club and hope for the best or get an Uber back to Lilia’s.

He shoved the phone back in the tight pocket and kept walking as he thought, bringing his arms back around him.

Skating, he told himself. Think about skating.

In two weeks, he’d be at the Rostelecom cup. He’d skate his heart out. He’d give them all a show unlike anything they’d ever seen. He’d win gold. He’d be in Moscow. He hadn’t been back there since –

_Shut up_ , he mentally berated himself. Focus. On. Skating.

He ran through his routines as he walked, playing them through his head like he had a million times before. He tried humming the music to himself, but it wasn’t possible through the chattering of his teeth.

The snow glowed yellow under the street lights as Yuri watched his black, platform boots leave pattered tracks in the snow.

He wondered how long the prints would last.

It was only another minute until Yuri was so cold that he accepted he’d probably have to call the night short and just go back.

He could always play music in his room or something and it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to get into the liquor cabinet.

Just then, a slightly beat-up black sedan slowed down on the road before coming to a stop next to him.

The passenger side window rolled down and a man whistled at Yuri. “Hey, baby. What are you doing out so late?”

Already peeved off, Yuri turned to the car. He could see two men in their early twenties in the front seats and three more squeezed in the back. They all looked like idiots. “I’m a _boy!_ ” Yuri snapped. That should be enough to get them to leave him alone. Or harass him further. It was impossible to guess.

Yuri knew he couldn’t _really_ blame them. His hair was in a half-pony and he had dark eyeshadow on. His figure was slim and small, so it was easy to confuse him for a girl from behind and his arms were wrapped about his chest, so they couldn’t exactly see his lack of one.

But it still pissed him off. He was a _boy._

The guy blinked in surprise as there was a shocked ripple of laughter through the car. He turned around and whispered with the others for a moment as Yuri scowled on the sidewalk.

The man turned back to him with a shrug and another stupid smile. “You’re still too pretty to be out here all alone.”

Yuri was about to tell him and his friends to go fuck themselves, when the back window slid down.

“Hey!” one of the guys in the back called out to him. “We’re going to a party – wanna come?”

Usually, an offer like that would make Yuri flip them off and go on his way, but he thought of his nearly dead phone, lack of booze, and the cold ass weather.

The offer was tempting.

“You got drinks?” Yuri asked, shifting his stance in the snow.

“Got some right here.”

“And a charger?”

“Of course.”

With a short huff, Yuri shrugged. “Fine.”

The guys all smiled and opened the back door so Yuri could climb in.

He ended up on the lap of the guy in the middle, who laughed every time the car hit a pothole.

Yuri plugged his phone into the charger connected to the front and smacked away any hands that ended up on his legs.

“So, what’s your name?” the guy to the left of Yuri asked.

“Does it matter?” Yuri responded with an air of indifference. “I’m not going to remember yours.”

The guys all laughed as if it was a joke.

The man to the right of Yuri leaned down and grabbed a large bottle that was between his feet. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Yuri as the car bounced. Some of the clear liquid sloshed out of the neck.

“Here,” the man offered. “Unless you need something lighter.”

“Are you shitting me?” Yuri grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Straight vodka.

The men cheered as the one driving turned up the radio.

The ‘party’ was really just them and a few of the guys’ friends in one of their shitty apartments. It was lame as hell and their music taste sucked, but they gave him alcohol, so Yuri stayed.

It didn’t take long at all for Yuri to begin to lose himself in the blissful fog that came with nights like these. The rest of the guys didn’t hold back either, and soon time blurred and spilled cups and bottles littered the floor.

When a few of them decided to drunkenly play on the Xbox, Yuri opted to take shots with the guy who had been the driver instead.

Yuri hadn’t seen him too well in the car, but in the light of the apartment, he was hot.

Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking.

Either way, Yuri made out with him on the couch, finally drunk enough to enjoy it.

The guy was warm and his mouth tasted like cranberry and vodka, so Yuri let him lay him down on the couch, tongues and lips and hands exploring each other’s skin.

But the man quickly began to get a bit _too_ handsy. When he slid his fingertips down the back of Yuri’s pants, Yuri pulled away and shoved the guy back as he sat up.

“Get off,” Yuri slurred, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest. His mind felt fuzzy and he couldn’t find the normal fight he had against unwanted advances.

“Come on,” the guy said, grabbing at Yuri’s hips. “The bedroom’s down the hall if you want some privacy.” He kissed Yuri’s jaw as one of his hands slid down to squeeze his thigh, but everyone else in the apartment was too smashed to notice anything anyway.

In his hazy state, Yuri could only weakly push at him with open palms. “I’m bored,” he muttered.

“Then let’s make things more interesting.” The man grabbed Yuri’s hand and placed it on his crotch, rubbing against it.

Yuri snatched his hand away and tried to stand up, but the man pulled him back down.

“Hey,” the guy said, his voice coaxing. “Relax. We can still have fun, da? Do you want another drink?”

Yuri surprised himself by shaking his head no. He – he just wanted to leave. He just wanted to sleep. He only had three and a half hours before he’d have to get up for practice.

“I’m leaving.” Yuri ripped himself out of the man’s grasp and stood up, steadying himself.

“What?” Clearly upset, the guy reached for Yuri again. “You’ve gotta give me _something._ ”

“I don’t have to give you shit.” Yuri meant to have more bite in his voice, but he was suddenly exhausted. “Where the fuck’s my phone?” he mumbled to himself, vaguely remembering he’d left it plugged in somewhere.

He shoved away the man’s hands before he stumbled to the kitchen counter, finding his phone incredibly close to a large spill on the surface of the tiles.

It took him more effort than it should have to unplug his phone, but Yuri could barely see straight.

As he struggled with the cord, the man had silently left the couch and wrapped his arms about Yuri’s waist to pin him against the counter.

“Such dirty words from such a pretty mouth,” he murmured into Yuri’s ear.

Feeling his skin crawl, Yuri pushed back against his hold, but the bigger man wouldn’t budge.

“I wonder what other dirty things it does,” he whispered, unnervingly close.

Yuri suddenly felt the need to vomit, but it had nothing to do with how much he’d drank. Holding on to his last bit of coherence, he griped his now free phone in his hand and promptly sung his arm back to smack it across the man’s temple.

“Fuck!” Stumbling back, the man let Yuri go as his hands flew to his head. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Your breath stinks.” Yuri held his head up as high as he could and tried to stride towards the door, but he wobbled more than was ideal. He almost tripped over the body of someone passed out on the floor before he reached the door.

“Fucking tease!” the guy yelled after him.

Yuri lazily flipped him off as he opened the door. “Yeah, whatever. Fuck you, too.”

He slammed the door behind him and his exterior crumpled as he fell against the nearby wall, breathing heavily for a reason he couldn’t explain. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest and tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

_Calm down,_ he repeated a few times in his mind. He was fine. He was _fine._

Nothing happened; why was he so upset? He had fun for the most part, right?

He was just drunk, that was all.

Yuri shoved himself off the wall and fought through his haze to find the stairwell and order an Uber at the same time.

Shit place didn’t even have an elevator.

Miraculously, he found his way out of the building and waited in the freezing cold for the Uber.

He didn’t even know where he was.

Yuri passed out in the back of the car as soon as he got in, only to be woken up thirty minutes later by the driver yelling at him that they’ve arrived.

He tried to be quiet going in, he really did, but he slammed the door louder than he meant to and tripped over his boots while trying to take them off, dropping them in the process, all while muttering curses to himself.

The foyer echoed; he knew this, so he was practically expecting it when the lights above the staircase came on. Yuri winced at the sudden brightness and the penetrating sound of his name.

“ _Yuri Plisetsky!_ ”

He looked up to find Lilia at the top of the stairs in one of her many luxurious robes, her sour face pinched in utter _fury._

He could hear the tell-tale sound of Yakov’s heavy steps approaching as well. His coach started yelling before he was even in eyesight.

What a shit night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the Rostelecom Cup!

**Author's Note:**

> The actual plot starts next chapter and should be longer than 2k words. (But sorry Nikolai, I had to kill you off.)
> 
> Also, I copy and pasted that Russian from google translate so apologies to Russian speakers everywhere because there's no way that's right, but we'll just pretend what google says is gospel


End file.
